"Sir," she said to Daniel, "would you like some water or coffee? It's cold outside."
The question was ordinary. That was why it mattered.
For the first time since entering the building, Daniel heard an employee speaking to him as a customer rather than as an inconvenience. "That's very kind of you," he said.
"A coffee would be great. Thank you."
Vanessa snapped her tablet shut.
"Maria, we don't serve coffee to people who aren't buying. Go back to your desk." Maria glanced at Daniel's hands, which were still reddened from the rain.
"Vanessa," she said carefully, "he's a customer. Everyone who walks through that door is a customer." Vanessa's expression hardened.
"Not everyone. Some people walk in here just to dream, and dreams aren't free."
"One more word and you'll be filling out a resignation letter," Vanessa continued, lowering her voice so that Daniel could hear every syllable. "Understood?" Maria swallowed.
She needed this job, and the brief fear that crossed her face was unmistakable. "Understood," she said, though she did not take back the offer of coffee.
Daniel stepped nearer the desk.
"Please don't blame her. I asked for the coffee, and she was only being polite." Vanessa turned on him.
"Polite doesn't pay the rent, sir. Neither does whatever you do for a living." Daniel considered her for a moment.
"I fix things for a living, mostly," he replied. "Engines, pipes, whatever's broken."
"A handyman," Tyler announced as though he had discovered a winning joke.
"Vanessa, we've got a handyman who wants a three-hundred-grand coupe. Maybe he'll pay in screws." Vanessa gave a dry laugh.
"Do you take payment in tools, honey?" Daniel looked between them. He could feel an old scene aligning with a new one, the same casual amusement, the same refusal to believe a person in a worn jacket belonged among expensive cars.
He thought of the can in his father's hands, the way Frank had rotated its lid so that it would not rattle on the counter. The memory came with a surprising physical force, an ache that Daniel had not expected after so many years. He breathed through it and kept his voice even.
"I asked to see a car," he said. "If either of you would rather not help me, perhaps someone else would."
Before Vanessa could answer, the front doors opened and a man in a cream-colored cashmere sweater entered with a phone already in his hand. He was in his forties, thickly tanned, and wore the relaxed expression of someone accustomed to having other people's schedules rearranged for his convenience. Tyler's entire manner transformed.
"Mr. Whitaker! Welcome back. We're getting your car ready right now."
Brent Whitaker was a regular client whose family had accumulated holdings in retail property, private lending, and several regional franchises. He was also a social-media personality of the kind who recorded his own arrivals and expected strangers to understand that the camera made the moment important. As soon as he noticed Daniel, he raised the phone.